8.14.2016

Ya uno sólo tiene derecho a muy pocas cosas / Guillermo Sucre

You barely have any right to anything anymore

You barely have any right to anything anymore
I know or something lets me know that I can’t speak about happiness

I abandoned my house and I haven’t gone back
now it’ll be covered in vines and in that patio no fire or hand to light it
one day it’ll be erased by the rains and I won’t be there to pick it up again
(what makes us leave and how can we leave)

How could you even mention the word that needs shelter fidelity
to be real
But I know or think I know that happiness exists right there
where it doesn’t exist
that keeping the warmth of its absence prepares (if) not its gleam
its limpidness
This is how I can’t speak about happiness but I can be quiet
in it
travel its silence the vast memory of not having it

Happiness I now realize isn’t a topic for a speech
but rather the speech itself
a speech that always separates itself from its topic or that after
being written discovers
reasons
it has to be written again